<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Misfits by Narmie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224006">Misfits</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narmie/pseuds/Narmie'>Narmie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merry go around [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, I also don't know how to tag, M/M, a bit ludicrous, bc that's who I am, holidayish</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:27:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,081</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224006</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narmie/pseuds/Narmie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes we don't have any plans, but it's fine because our friends can give us a good plan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merry go around [5]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050779</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>59</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I asked on Tumblr for some prompt so here it is! Thank you rainbowdazzle (on Tumblr, I have no idea if you are here) for this prompt. I might have done it entirely not how you pictured it. Well sorry about that. I'm just me.<br/>I'll post the original prompt at the end as to not ruin the surprise.<br/>PS: I have one more story to go and I will post it on Thrusday. Well, I have also a little one started, I would love to post on New Year's Eve but first, let's see if I manage to write that one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were a few rules to follow on misfits Christmas as Tim was informed.</p><p>
  <strong>1. No presents.</strong>
</p><p>Because if your family and friends wouldn’t get you anything you liked, how any stranger could. And what was worse than getting a stupid present you wanted to throw out immediately while appearing that you loved it? </p><p> </p><p>
  <b>2. All the traditional shit</b>
</p><p>Which basically meant everything was allowed, even if it was stupid. You wanted a pizza on the table, no problem. You wanted scrambled eggs — just get them fucking done.</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>3. No childish tantrums</b>
</p><p>If you were up to get offended because of what someone else said, you’d better go with your family party and spare others the night.</p><p> </p><p>To say that Tim didn’t find it funny would be a joke. It was, of course, Will’s warped sense of humour. Alongside the Facebook event for ‘<em> Misfits Christmas Party, come as you are </em>’. Because it wasn’t like they didn’t have anyone to spend Christmas Eve with. They had just decided to have it in their own way. Tim still wasn’t sure if Will inviting some other people was even surprising. </p><p>
  <strong>~~*~~</strong>
</p><p>Which is how Tim finds himself mingling between people he hardly knows, trying to chat, but honestly failing at it. After all, it’s a bit hard to keep the conversation going, when all you can think of is the name of the person you are talking to because you’re this dumbass that has already forgotten. </p><p> </p><p>Will is nowhere to be seen which again — not surprising — but also not helpful. Tim needs his best bro presence right the fuck now. Because there is this guy, in the corner of the room, with his spicy margarita glass, looking extremely ridiculous (and also edible … whatever, sue him) in his pinkish Hawaiian shirt. Sporting both an admirable stubble (or maybe it’s already a beard) and not so admirable (kinda sexy but also kinda not) moustache. He looks a bit like a pervert and a bit like a coconut tree Tim would happily hump. And that is why Tim needs Will asap. </p><p> </p><p>He goes to the bathroom — no, no he is not hiding — he just needs to pee. For like ten or so minutes. He talks himself out of being dumbass and acting like a crazy lunatic, he splashes cold water on his face, chilling his warm cheeks a bit. </p><p> </p><p>He leaves the bathroom and thankfully there is no one in the corridor waiting to get in because that would be just embarrassing. He moves to the living room with the idea to snack on something while trying to locate William, the friend who keeps on leaving him. Maybe he has some abandonment issues, that is a possibility. </p><p> </p><p>His focus wavers at the entering and seeing the guy sprawled over the couch with a bowl of popcorn in his lap, the orange-tee stretched over his muscled forearms. He sorts out himself quickly, scanning the room in a search for Will, not allowing his eyes to rest again on the couch and orange tee. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps he still has some luck left in his life, because 5 seconds later Will comes in with a huge bowl of something inside and he places it right in the middle of the table. Knocking only a few glasses and one plate doing so.</p><p> </p><p>He tries to catch Will’s attention and convey the struggle with his eyes, but Will just doesn’t get it and smiles at him funnily. So he <em> ‘subtly </em>’ drags him away.</p><p> </p><p>“Sup Timo”</p><p>And honestly, sometimes Tim just wants to whack Will for being this oblivious. </p><p>“Other than you leaving me here all on my own with a bunch of strangers, I’m ecstatic really” he responds sarcastically but is afraid Will won’t catch any of that. He is in a too good mood, the party surprisingly a success. </p><p>Tim catches him under the elbow and turns a bit to the side, before asking</p><p>“What’s his name?” he says, pointing his head at the orange-tee-dude. Will, the kid of known subtlety and discretion, whips his head back to get a proper look.</p><p>“Armand”</p><p>“What sort of name it even is?” Tim asks though he wants to know something else, broadly ‘<em> who is this guy </em>?!’. </p><p>“Oh, really <em> Timotay </em>” Will responds, a condescending look on his face. He has a point there, but Tim still whacks him on the arm, just to be an ass. “He goes with Armie”</p><p>“He looks kinda scary”</p><p>“Ooh sure sure” Tim doesn’t like this tone. It’s implying. He raises one eyebrow at Will, the movement honed to perfection and Will adds with a smirk “It has nothing to do with your willingness to ride him”</p><p>“I beg you pardon?!”</p><p>“Oh god,” Will snorts, laughter bubbling out of him while Tim tries to stay in the character. “It’s good you are as fucked up as I am”</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>~~*~~</b>
</p><p> </p><p>He scans the kitchen, he knows somewhere in those cupboards is the last package of his favourite, Salt and Vinegar Pringles. He just doesn’t know where. He crosses out the lower ones. No one hides anything good in there, too easy access. With no chair in sight, he hauls himself up onto the counter and balances to stand up properly, but he opts to stay on his knees and trawl through the cupboards. </p><p>He jumps off, hitting his right calf, groaning in pain but the pringles are safe and whole in his hand. He counts as the victory, even though there sure will be some nasty bruise on his leg. As his mom used to say ‘<em> he will live </em>’. Ooh, the beauty of parenting. </p><p> </p><p>He makes his way back, wondering about the best place he could get for himself and his precious snack. The least he expects is to smash with someone else, crashing with a nice, warm body. He doesn’t land on his ass, which is a good thing, seeing as some strong hands sneak around his waist. He also doesn’t stop holding his precious package of snacks, which is also another good thing. But the world isn’t built on good things, no surprises here. Because as soon as his brain regains the capacity to think and he looks up, he meets the gaze of the creepy-would-totally-fuck orange-tee guy with that dick broom on his face. </p><p>“Ummm … sorry,” he says, a bit hesitant. Albeit, Tim bumped into many people in his life, he still hasn’t learnt the knowledge on what to do and how to act. He steps aside, not completely eager to put some distance between them, but also not entirely sure if their position is appropriate. Because nothing is really easy in his life, when he stumbles back, people around them start to chant ‘kiss, kiss, kiss’ and Tim is dumbfounded for a half of a second before he looks up, and yes. There it is. Right fucking there. This stupid sort of a plant or whatever that can only do damage and disaster. </p><p>The mistletoe. </p><p>The worst part is that this thing is literally dead. </p><p> </p><p>Tim looks at the guy’s eyes, searching for help. For rescue. For this dude to say something like ‘<em> don’t be such a dumb fuckers, we don’t care about mistletoes tradition </em> ’ but nope. The guy doesn’t look offended or tired. Or embarrassed, like Tim No, no, no. The guy looks smug. Which, first of all, excuse you? And second of all … no just the first one. There’s some sort of mischief flickering, a self-righteous smirk tugging his lips. And he just shrugs at Tim’s questioning gaze. The <em> audacity </em>honestly. He sneaks his hand around Tim’s waist again and leans down for a kiss. </p><p> </p><p>If Tim expected some short peck on the lips and ‘<em> bye let’s never mention it again’ </em>, he was really mistaken. It seems the guy doesn’t do anything in halves. Even if it’s about kissing some stranger under the mistletoe on some random Christmas party. He bites Tim’s lower lip, traces his tongue over the seam and coaxes his lips to open, to let him inside. Without a warning, the kiss deepens and Tim moans unabashedly into Armie’s mouth. It’s just on the edge of being filthy, the way Armie’s tongue moves along his, the way Armie’s hands rest on the small of his back, skimming over the swell of his ass. He is close to starting undulating his hips, with no surprise realizing he is already half-hard. The sweet ache gathering in his groin. The heat coiling in the pit of his stomach. </p><p>The audience that has just started catcalling and cheering, makes Tim realize what exactly he is doing and where. He pulls back, his hands shaking, he can feel a pink blush spreading over his cheeks in an embarrassed manner. He glances up, Armie is looking at him with a lust shimmering in his eyes and a smug smile curving his lips. It’s obvious he <em> wants </em>more.</p><p> </p><p>Surprisingly — or maybe not so much —  Tim wants it as well. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest, Armie’s hands still spread possibly over his hip bone. </p><p> </p><p>He turns to the side and sees Will winking at him. The fucker.</p><p> </p><p>He bits his lower lip, shifting his gaze back to Armie, who is looking at him with questioning eyes. </p><p> </p><p>If he ends up in this guy’s apartment one day later, getting fucked within the inch of his life, who is there to judge him?! </p><p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div class="highlighter--icon highlighter--icon-copy">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
    <div class="highlighter--separator">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
    <div class="highlighter--icon highlighter--icon-delete">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wasn't planning on adding another chapter but I thought why the hell not and it's not long so I hope you will like it.<br/>Happy New Year y'all!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wakes up groggily, uncertain where he is because that soft bedding for sure is not his. Too soft and silken. But what throws him more out of balance is the heavyweight settled across his midsection, pinning him to the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head is pounding and his bladder is uncomfortably full, yet he opts to stay with his eyes closed and maybe if he is lucky he will fall back to sleep. Or if not he will wake up from this delicious dream. Because the other thing he is certain is that he is sore. Pleasantly so. In all the right places.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He almost does it, but then the weight next to him shifts and a stubble nuzzles his neck. Tim is still in that state of being half-asleep and half-awake, not really responsible for his actions because he wants to purr as a goodman cat when the heated weight repeats the action, nosing his neck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He turns to the side and then there’s a mouth on his, morning breath and all. Yet, he doesn’t mind. He opens his lips, letting the tongue inside even though he hates the taste of stale. He can feel fingernails scarping his head, skimming around the curls on his neck, catching the earlobe on its journey. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Mhmm you taste nice,” the guy says, flashing him a shit-eating grin. Tim can’t stop himself from responding, his lips curving on a smile and his insides clenching a bit. “Fancy a shower?” Armie asks, leaning down and nipping at Tim’s nipples, the teasing shit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tim groans and pushes Armie’s face off his chest, before climbing on top of him, his legs wrapping all around Armie’s waist and saying sleepily “Go on then”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Armie doesn’t disappoint, he scrutinizes Tim, eyes heated and lips parted, before shrugging and moving off the bed, dragging Tim with him. The only thing Tim can do is cling to him like an octopus.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In all fairness, he hadn’t planned to appear on Armie’s doorstep on New Year’s Eve drunk to the point he didn’t care if it was stupid and foolish. Not even considering if Armie was there and not at some other party. Somehow he was lucky. Armie opened the door and Tim didn’t let him say anything before surging forward and crashing their lips together because that Christmas’ kiss was hunting him not only in his sleep. Though those at least were rather pleasant that is until he had to wake up and get back to reality. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But this reality was better. So much better. The sex was simply fabulous and Tim hopes that they will go for it all day. It’s the first day of the new year. And there is this saying about your year looking as your first day of New Year was. Or something. He doesn’t much care right now really. All he hopes for is a lot more of sex.  And maybe more of Armie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bit more. Or a lot more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He still hasn’t decided. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But right now he has some more pressing issues. Like Armie’s hard on poking his hips. </span>
</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p></p>
  <div>
    <p></p>
    <div class="highlighter--icon highlighter--icon-copy">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
    <div class="highlighter--separator">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
    <div class="highlighter--icon highlighter--icon-delete">
      <p> </p>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Prompt: the boys are invited to a holiday party of a mutual friend, they don’t know each other but they get stuck under the mistletoe and the crowd chants for them to kiss kiss kiss</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>